


Why Angels Fall

by JJReynolds



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: First Kiss, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-24 08:42:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19720186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JJReynolds/pseuds/JJReynolds
Summary: Post-apocalyptic drinking session about Crowley's vague, downward saunter.





	Why Angels Fall

Aziraphale closed his eyes and took a deep breath, inhaling the intoxicating scent. He’d enjoyed watching the Maître ‘D prepare the Crepes Suzette at the table after enjoying dinner, and as he slipped the last bite into his mouth, he savored the moment. The sweetness of sugar and the bitterness of orange zest danced a bittersweet dance playfully on his tongue. He opened his eyes and glanced over to see Crowley, staring intently at him, smiling contentedly.

“Well, Angel? As delicious as Paris?”

Aziraphale felt the blush flood his cheeks. He smiled shyly. Crowley remained staring, unblinking, at Aziraphale, who dropped his eyes to the empty plate. The angel giggled as he replied, “Well, this _is_ the Ritz.”

Crowley noticed the pink flush, the way Aziraphale averted his gaze, the small glaze of sugar on his lower lip. “Angel,” he said, as he gestured ever so slightly to his own lower lip.

“Hmm, what?” Crowley began to reach across the table at the same time Aziraphale touched his own lip awkwardly and noticed the sticky spot. Crowley, pulled back his hand hesitantly. “Oh! Oh my. Silly me, I may have enjoyed that a little too much,” Aziraphale chuckled as he lifted the white napkin from his lap and dabbed at the sugar. He looked at the spot on his napkin and felt a cloud of melancholy pass over him. 

They’d just survived the Apocalypse, and saved the Earth and all of humanity, but Heaven and Hell had disowned them both. Aziraphale knew that he was now a Fallen Angel. And the last bite of crepes was gone. In that moment he realized that he no longer had a purpose. No more miracles meant no more need for the Arrangement. No Arrangement meant no more need for Crowley, or temptations or blessings. No more Crowley. 

_No more Crowley_. 

“Angel. Angel?” Aziraphale jerked out of his reverie as Crowley snapped his fingers. “Oh, Crowley. So sorry. My mind was…elsewhere.” The angel’s normally cheeky smile had transformed instead into a face full of furrowed concern. “Are you alright?” Crowley asked. Aziraphale forced a chuckle. “Oh yes. Just, you know, the last bite and no room for more.” He patted his well-manicured hands on his stomach.

“Of course,” the demon replied. “Lift home?”

“Actually, Crowley, tonight I think I might want to walk.” 

“Alright then. I guess until next time?”

“Well actually…” he paused and took a breath, “would you like to walk with me?”

“And leave my car?” Crowley wrinkled his nose as if he’d smelled something awful, like Hastur or Gabriel. The angel’s face immediately fell into a little pout. Crowley hated that face. “Well, I suppose nothing will happen to it at The Ritz.” Aziraphale instantly smiled, a smile that lit up the entire room. Crowley loved that face. He couldn’t help but smile back. 

“Let’s go, Angel.”

*******************************************

They stepped into the chill of the night air and began their walk down Piccadilly. Lunch had turned into dinner, which had turned into champagne and dessert. It was dark and the streetlamps cast subtle halos in the thick air. 

Crowley pulled his jacket tighter around himself. He wasn’t much for the cold, being at heart a snake and all. Aziraphale, however, was warm. He thought it was from the many layers he chose to wear, but every few steps his arm would casually brush against Crowley’s, and he’d feel even warmer. The demon could feel the heat radiating from his friend and slowed his pace to walk a little closer. 

“All those fancy clothes keep you nice and warm, don’t they? How many layers do you have on exactly?” Crowley reached over and lifted the edge of Aziraphale’s coat to look underneath. 

“My goodness, Crowley” the angel exclaimed as he coquettishly slapped the demon’s hand away. His eyes were round as saucers and his face flushed so that even the darkness of night couldn’t hide his embarrassment. Crowley loved this face, too. “I should think you would know how many layers I wear when you were wearing my skin!” Aziraphale scolded.

“I only took off the pants, Angel.” 

Aziraphale’s mouth hung agape. Crowley’s mouth turned up into a sly smile at one corner. Aziraphale loved that face. “Close your mouth, Angel, and let’s get on. It’s cold out here.” Aziraphale shivered as Crowley slipped his arm through his and sped up the pace for both of them. 

**********************************************

Aziraphale slid the key into the lock on the front door. The door swung open soundlessly. _That’s funny_ , he thought, _it used to squeak_. He swung the door once or twice more in appreciation. Aziraphale turned back to share his delight with Crowley, who was looking slightly more impatient than cold at the moment. He stepped back, gallantly threw out his arm, and bowed just a tiny bit as he said, “After you.”

Crowley stepped in and immediately headed to the back room. He knew where Aziraphale hid the good Scotch. Actually, the best Scotch. He scooted the dusty copy of _The Collected Poetry of Paula Nancy Millstone Jennings_ out of the way to grab one of the bottles stashed behind it. 

“Crowley! You know that’s extremely rare, and has been saved for a special occasion!” 

Crowley thought back to the night they’d acquired the bottle and the “incident” at the distillery. He couldn’t help the demonic chuckle escaping his lips as remembered. Best laid plans, and all. He could still make out the date of 1853, but the rest of the label was burned away. 

He spun excitedly. “And that’s what this is, Angel! The _most_ special of special occasions.” He took out their familiar crystal glasses and began to pour. “We saved the world, the Antichrist is human again, and we are free to do as we like. No more miracles. No more temptations. “No more,” (he scrunched his nose up hard, and imitated Beelzebub) “memozzzzz to the home office! We’re done. It’s over!”

Aziraphale managed to fake a smile. “Yay!” he said as he waved his hands in the air. He grabbed the glass from Crowley’s extended hand, and drank it down in one large gulp. The Scotch hit him hard, hard enough to make his eyes water, his throat burn, and his body to drop into the nearest chair. 

“Better slow down there, Angel.” Crowley sniffed his own glass, muttered a muted “wow”, and raised it toward Aziraphale. “To freedom,” he toasted and drained the glass.

******************************************

Drunken conversations had always been some of their best. They were able to step out of their lives as angel and demon, and just be Aziraphale and Crowley – friends. They could joke, tease, pretend the world wasn’t ending or that futures didn’t hang in the balance. This time they didn’t have to pretend that the world wasn’t ending, or that their futures didn’t hang in the balance, so finding things to joke and tease about was a bit more difficult than usual. 

“I guess I should call a taxi, pick up the Bentley, and head home.” Crowley rubbed his hands on his pants legs, and stood up, a universal sign for _this is really awkward so I’m leaving now_.

Aziraphale jumped to his feet, shaking his hands at Crowley, “No! No, not yet. Please. Please stay just a bit more.” Aziraphale quickly grabbed the near empty third bottle of Scotch and shook it toward Crowley, the universal sign for _but we aren’t done yet._ That face again. That sad little pout that Crowley hated, only because it meant his friend was unhappy. Crowley sat back down, locking eyes with Aziraphale, waiting for whatever the angel didn’t want to say. 

Usually by this point Aziraphale would have looked away, smiled, blushed, but not this time. He held the demon’s gaze in his, an earnest gaze that looked more than sad. He looked lost.

“Crowley.” He paused, finally gathering enough courage to say what needed to be said. “Crowley, is this it?”

“ _What_?”

“This. Here, now, tonight. Is this it?”

“I’m afraid you’ve lost me, Angel. You know it’s over for now. We saved the world. Who knows when they’ll start up all this nonsense again.”

“Not _it_. Not the _world,_ Crowley. _Us_. Are _we_ over?”

Crowley sat dumbfounded. He hadn’t thought about it. No more Antichrist, no more Armageddon, no more pawns in the games of Heaven and Hell. No more Arrangement. Crowley slumped back in the chair. The weight of Aziraphale’s words crashed down. “I hadn’t thought about it,” was all he could manage. Time to sober up.

*********************************************

The demon paced back and forth next to the table. “Just because we don’t have the Arrangement doesn’t mean we can’t, you know, do things!” Crowley looked at Aziraphale for some sort of positive encouragement. “I mean, we can still have lunch, feed the ducks, do…stuff.”

“But what, my dear Crowley, would be the point? What would be the purpose?”

“Oh, you know. Food, ducks…”

“Yes,” interrupted Aziraphale, “food, ducks. But what else? We’ve always had a mission and a purpose and a reason.”

“You’re my best friend.” Crowley looked at Aziraphale and wondered why he couldn’t see the purpose in simply that. 

Aziraphale smiled again. “I guess I’ve never stopped thinking that you’re a demon and I’m an angel, so we’d have to have a purpose.” 

‘We aren’t that different, Aziraphale. Not even a bit. I mean, you aren’t exactly an angel-in-good-standing yourself right now.”

The angel was mortified. “I’m. You’re. I.” He huffed, a bit angrily. “I am NOT a fallen angel!”

Aziraphale’s expression, somewhere between horror, anger, and offense, actually made Crowley laugh. “Oh, Angel, I’m so sorry. But I didn’t exactly fall either, if you remember.”

Aziraphale’s face softened. “You’ve never really told me, Crowley. What happened? Why did you fall?”

Crowley made that bad smell face again. “Questions. The wrong people.” He’d been looking at the floor, and glanced up to see Aziraphale’s face. The horror, anger, and offense had transformed into concern and curiosity. And was that also a hint of love?

Crowley slumped into his chair, took a fresh sip of Scotch, and began.

***********************************************

“Heaven had no color. Sure, it was silver and sparkling and beautiful, but it was still just…blank. And then I saw a light. A different, brighter light…” Crowley’s eyes wandered off into ancient memories. Aziraphale couldn’t help but turn and look around. Crowley poured another shot into his glass, and drank it down. The best part of sobering up, to Crowley, was starting over.

“Tell me about the light, Crowley.” Aziraphale’s face was lit up with curiosity. He loved Crowley’s stories, but he’d never been able to tempt him into telling this one before. He leaned forward eagerly, resting his elbow on the table and his chin on his hand. Crowley, eyebrows raised, looked at Aziraphale and couldn’t help but smile at the angel’s giddy expression. He set the glass down and continued.

“The light was so bright, that it seemed to touch all of Heaven. And when you looked closely, it wasn’t just light, it was color. Every color. I made a galaxy out of stars and colors and it still wasn’t as,” he paused…

“Beautiful?” interrupted Aziraphale, sighing romantically. Crowley glared at the angel. “Oh, of course. Sorry. Please continue!”

“I asked God about the light, but she only said it was part of the ‘Great Plan’. That wasn’t much of an answer, so I asked her about the ‘Great Plan’. ‘It’s in ineffable,’ was all I could get.” Aziraphale got that _I told you so!_ look on his face, but another glare from Crowley stopped him before he even opened his mouth. 

“Every day I helped create, and every day I asked again. Every day she just said ‘ineffable’ or ‘great plan’ or ‘Crowley, mind your business’.” He looked at Aziraphale who was hanging on the demon’s every word. “Have you ever wanted something so badly, but couldn’t have it? Where every day it seems father and farther away?” “I have an idea,” replied the angel.

Finally, I started asking the other angels – about the light, the purpose of creating, the meaning of it all. Of course, Lucifer and the guys had some good ideas about that, so I…”

Aziraphale interrupted again, “Oh, no! What did you do?” He couldn’t hide his excitement, and leaned in even closer.

****************************************************

Crowley leaned back in his chair. “That’s it, Angel. Lucifer rebelled, I got caught in the middle. They fell, and I just sort of followed. There wasn’t much purpose in staying in Heaven after that.”

“Oh, my dear, that’s a terrible story. You fell for nothing!” The angel couldn’t hide his disgust. “All for nothing!” 

“Not for nothing, Angel. I did fall, but I kept searching. God created the earth, made some people and a tree, and there was that light again. It’s why I asked for the earth job and slithered my way into the garden.”

“Oh wonderful! Delightful. And did you find it?” Aziraphale was smiling again.

“I did. It was guarding the Eastern Gate.”

“Oh, you silly. I was guarding the Eastern Gate.” Crowley leaned in toward Aziraphale, and cocked his head to one side. He smiled as he looked into the angel’s eyes and nodded.

Aziraphale was taken aback. “Oh. You mean, I. Oh, hmm, yes.” He managed a small giggle and felt his face flush hot. “So, you fell for…me?” He’d looked away for a moment, and felt Crowley’s hand on his chin, gently turning his face back to meet the demon’s gaze. 

“I fell for you, Angel. So, tell me, then, why did _you_ fall?”

The anger that had passed through Aziraphale the first time Crowley insinuated he’d actually become a fallen angel was gone. Instead, there was something new, yet thousands of years old. “I fell for. I, um, fell for,” he paused, swallowed deep and found his words. “I fell for love.” 

In a rush of feathers and heat, Aziraphale was pulled from his seat and pressed against a stack of books. If he’d remembered to breathe, the air would have been forced from his lungs. Crowley’s body pressed firmly against his, holding him in the moment. Before he could either protest or agree, Crowley's soft lips covered his, and he closed his eyes. In that moment, Aziraphale was swept away, through time and space, to the stars in a distant nebula, newborn from the remnants of a supernova, colors stretched across the universe: The Pillars of Creation. _His_ Pillars of Creation.

**************************************************

That night they slept, though angels aren’t much for sleeping. In a back room in a dusty bookshop on a soft old couch in Soho, they slept in each other’s arms.

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first stab at fan fiction. It was much more difficult than I thought it would be! Tried to stay true to the characters and the author's intent. Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
